When Birth Doesn’t Go as Planned: Trauma, C-Sections, and the Feeding Journey

There’s a growing body of research confirming what many of us already know deep in our bones: birth trauma—whether physical, emotional, or systemic—can significantly disrupt the feeding journey.

Trauma changes how our bodies respond.

It can delay milk production, interfere with bonding, and make something as instinctive as feeding feel heavy, painful, or impossible.

And while some people experience breastfeeding as healing, many others describe it as another layer of overwhelm—especially after a delivery that didn’t go as planned.

One review found that traumatic births often lead to disrupted lactation, increased emotional distress, and higher rates of early weaning (Tzitiridou-Chatzopoulou et al., 2023). Another study confirmed that C-sections—particularly when followed by NICU admission—are associated with delayed breastfeeding and increased difficulty (Hobbs et al., 2016). And for some parents, feeding becomes a space where trauma and resilience collide (Wheeler et al., 2025).

That was my reality—twice.

When I was pregnant with my son, I planned carefully. I had a doula. A birth plan with backup plans—A, B, C, and D. I was doing everything I could to create a positive experience, even with a scheduled C-section on the horizon.

Everything went smoothly at first. We had skin-to-skin in the golden hour. I felt proud, grounded, relieved.

Then, complications arose. He was admitted to the NICU.

Suddenly, everything changed.

What followed was five days of emotional turmoil—trying to heal from surgery while pumping, trying to bond while being physically separated. The lactation support varied with each shift, and the inconsistency in approaches and advice left me frustrated and unsure. Just when I’d begin to get my footing, the plan would shift again.

Eventually, with the support of Alyssa Peri, a lactation consultant at breastfeeding counselor in DFW, whose steady and compassionate care gave us consistency when everything else felt shaky—we figured it out.

My son and I nursed for 23 months, until my milk dried up during pregnancy with my daughter.

I thought that experience would make the second time easier.

It didn’t.

My daughter was also born via planned C-section, and once again, complications led to NICU admission. But this time, there was no golden hour. No skin-to-skin. No holding her in the operating room or recovery. My husband stepped in to provide skin-to-skin while I lay in recovery, grieving the moment I thought I’d have again.

It would be over a day before I was able to hold her, and even longer before I could try to nurse.

When I did, she refused.

For six weeks, she turned away from the breast. She was tense, avoidant, overwhelmed. I could feel how much her body had been through, even if she couldn’t speak it. I was recovering from surgery, juggling pumping, managing a toddler at home, and emotionally unraveling all over again.

Once again, we turned to Alyssa.

With her guidance, we focused on rebuilding trust—not just hers, but mine too. Slowly, gently, we worked toward feeding without pressure. And at six weeks, my daughter and I finally figured out our rhythm.

Now, at ten months old and 27 pounds, we’re still nursing.

And while I’m proud of that, the way it started still lingers.

These two experiences taught me that birth trauma doesn’t always look dramatic.

Sometimes it’s the absence of what we needed—the first hold, the quiet bond, the chance to begin feeding without fear or pressure.

They also taught me that feeding isn’t just about the outcome—it’s about the journey. The grief, the repair, the support we did or didn’t have.

The research backs this up. Studies show that birth complications and NICU separation often lead to delayed lactation, disrupted bonding, and higher rates of early weaning (Tzitiridou-Chatzopoulou et al., 2023; Hobbs et al., 2016). Wheeler et al. (2025) reminds us that breastfeeding after trauma can either retraumatize or heal—and the difference lies in how supported someone feels.

That’s what I want you to hear most:

If you exclusively pumped, mixed fed, weaned earlier than you hoped—or never latched at all—you didn’t fail.

You adapted. You survived. You kept showing up.

That is enough.

No matter how your baby was fed, your story is worthy.

🌿 Special Thanks to Alyssa Peri

https://breastfeedingcounselor.com/

Thank you for walking alongside me through two deeply different, deeply meaningful feeding journeys. Your support helped me find safety in the mess.

References:

• Wheeler, K., et al. (2025). The Positive Cycle of Breastfeeding: Mental Health Outcomes of Breastfeeding Mothers Following Birth Trauma. Healthcare, 13(6), 672.

• Tzitiridou-Chatzopoulou, M., et al. (2023). Traumatic Birth Experience and Breastfeeding Ineffectiveness: A Literature Review. Materia Socio-Medica, 35(4), 325–333.

• Hobbs, A., et al. (2016). The Impact of Caesarean Section on Breastfeeding Initiation, Duration and Difficulties in the First Four Months Postpartum. BMC Pregnancy and Childbirth, 16:90.